December 13th 2015

I’m watching my wife and daughters rehearsing the Christmas revels. I sit in the back row. The players are dressed in Scottish kilts and regalia. They sing a combination of Christmas carols and traditional Scottish tunes. I’ve always loved the unadorned music of the Irish and the Scots. Must be in my blood.

·

I see a little girl,
Across the street she skips.
I wonder who someday
Will be the one to kiss her lips.

I see a little boy
Who runs in circles round.
I wonder who she’ll be
Will turn his spinning upside down.

Let happiness be theirs
Though sorrow’s in every smile;
Their world be free of cares
If only for a little while.

·

I wrote this on the spur of the moment–tonight. And I can’t write anything that’s not a little bittersweet. I’ve been reading Buson’s haiku, different yet as memorable as Basho’s. They can be very simple–and sometimes deceptively so.

·

under····the Milky Way—the roadway·········home

·

Once again I’ve come home too late at night. I may sleep in a little, again.

I want the many readers who visit from other parts of the world to know that you're welcome in my home. We in the United States, as in any other country, aren't always represented by who governs us. It doesn't matter to me where you're from, what language you speak or what truth you believe in. What matters to me is what's in your heart—and my own heart is what I offer you.

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Patrick Gillespie has self-published one book of Poetry and edited nothing besides. His poetry and criticism has been firmly ignored and hasn't been translated into a single language. Gillespie has never been a Poet Laureate (let alone a Poet Laureate of the Blogosphere), a Literary Fellow of the National Endowment of the Arts, or a Fellow of the Vermont Arts Council. He has received no prizes from the Poetry Foundation (or any other poetry related organizations) and the devil reportedly worries that Hell will freeze over if he ever receives anything like a Genius Grant from the MacArthur Fellows Program. He has been firmly rejected by any and all publishers. No plaques have been or will be dedicated to him or his poetry. Gillespie has received no recognition or prizes of any kind. He holds zero academic credentials or titles. In short, Gillespie is just like you -- of little to no importance to all but a few. You have no reason whatsoever to read him. He wears bottle-cap glasses, works as a Carpenter, has three daughters and a good sense of humor. He is currently replacing all the bad windows in his Vermont home.